The Knife-Throwing Scene from Al's POV
by Windchimed
Summary: "Stop it!" she yells, and all eyes focus on her. I'm stunned by her bravery – she's standing up to Eric when no one else will. And she's doing it for me. Al's perspective on the knife-throwing scene in "Divergent."


**_A/N: This is a scene that I've been meaning to write up for quite a while now. It shows Al's perspective during the scene in "Divergent" where Four throws knives at Tris. Hopefully, it will provide some interesting insights into his character._**

 ** _Thank you to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who proofread this for me while on vacation in Hawaii!_**

 ** _Disclaimer: I do not own "Divergent" or the characters, dialogue, plot lines, etc. that came from that book. All of that belongs to Veronica Roth._**

 **"** **Divergent" Chapter 13 – Al: Knife-Throwing**

It's incredibly difficult to drag myself out of bed in the morning. After capture the flag last night, we barely had time for three hours of sleep, and I was too upset to even get that. Why did I have to be on the losing team? I'm already struggling to make it into this faction, and that loss certainly won't help me.

On top of that, I had to watch that stupid Dauntless-born, Uriah, spend the train ride talking to Tris. She looked so happy after their victory, her whole face lit up from it. I wanted to be the one celebrating with her.

I skip breakfast, not feeling remotely in the mood to eat, and instead head straight to the training room. I'm so tired that it takes me a moment to realize the room has been rearranged. There are knives all over the table by the door, and a large demonstration target has been positioned at one end of the room. Are we seriously throwing knives today? Just how insane is this faction?

Not surprisingly, Eric and Four are both here, showing the evidence of last night's game in their body language. Eric always looks angry, but right now he seems ready to kill anyone who steps at all out of line. Four, on the other hand, is smug, wearing the expression of a winner. If I'd been on his team, it wouldn't bother me in the slightest, but as it is, it makes me feel smaller.

"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," Eric announces loudly, his tone deep with irritation and the attempt to pump himself up. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim." He waves a hand at the table. "Everyone pick up three knives, and pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them."

We're all too exhausted to obey immediately, and that clearly adds to Eric's mood, because he snarls, "Now!" The command makes us scramble to grab our weapons.

"He's in a bad mood today," Christina mutters beside me.

Tris' response is quiet. "Is he ever in a good mood?"

Both comments are true, since there's no denying that Eric is cruel and sadistic on a good day – and is even more pissed off than usual today. He gives Four a murderous glare as the two pass each other, and I look away from the faction leader, choosing instead to watch Four as he faces the targets.

He breathes evenly, holding two knives in his left hand while preparing to throw the third from his right. He doesn't explain anything, of course – I've given up on having the Dauntless truly do that. They seem to expect us to magically figure everything out from a few words here and there and from watching them. It's so different from Candor, and I know I'm failing miserably at adapting to it.

Four lets out his breath and launches the knife across the room. It travels in the blink of an eye, embedding itself firmly into the center of the target and vibrating in place. I can't help gasping at the speed and accuracy, knowing that there's no way I can emulate either.

He doesn't pause for our reactions, instead throwing the other knives one after the other in smooth motions. They hit the bulls-eye, too, and I feel something sink even more inside me as I watch. He makes it look so easy, but of course it won't be. None of this is.

"Line up!" Eric yells fiercely, and we all rush to obey. What choice do we have, after all?

I make my way to the edge of the room, so there's a wall on my right side. It's a slightly more private place to throw from, and that will help if I'm as bad at this as I expect to be.

And then I start. I do my best. I really do. But this is yet another skill I don't seem to have, and the longer we practice, the more obvious that becomes. Fortunately, no one else seems to be any good at it, either. Knives fly wildly around, hitting everywhere except the targets. And when I glance at Tris, I realize that she's not even throwing anything – she's just making arm movements.

That strikes me as odd, and it doesn't take long before the others notice, too. "I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head!" Peter yells. "Hey, Stiff! Remember what a _knife_ is?"

Tris ignores him in a way I don't think I'll ever be able to master. I suppose it's because she grew up in Abnegation, learning to put up with everyone else's rudeness, while I learned to always speak my mind.

She does finally throw, though. I'm not sure if it makes me feel better or worse that her knife actually hits the target. It doesn't stick, but I think she's the first one to hit the board at all.

"Hey, Peter," she calls sarcastically, "remember what a _target_ is?" It's pretty funny, and several of us laugh.

We all resume throwing after that, and my frustration grows as I watch everyone else start to gradually hit their targets – while I don't. Every single throw of mine misses completely, landing on the floor or even bouncing off the wall. It gets more and more embarrassing each time I have to scrounge around for my weapons while the rest of the initiates retrieve theirs from their boards.

I cringe when Eric marches over to me. "How slow _are_ you, Candor?" he spits right into my face. "Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?"

The insults make me stiffen, and I can feel redness rising up my cheeks. I try to ignore the taunts the way Tris does, turning and throwing another knife instead of responding. But it smacks into the wall the way so many of the others have.

"What was that, initiate?" Eric asks quietly, leaning close to me menacingly. Everything about him is chilling.

"It – it slipped," I mumble, just wanting him out of my face.

"Well, I think you should go get it," he snarls.

He's not being overly loud, but the others obviously hear him, because they all stop throwing to stare at us. Great – he's making me look like even more of a fool.

And then, just to top it all off, he shouts to them, "Did I tell you to stop?" He glares around the room, and I watch in horror as the others begin throwing again, clearly too scared to disobey. He can't seriously expect me to walk into the middle of that?

"Go get it?" I manage to ask, trying to keep my voice steady. "But everyone's still throwing."

"And?"

"And I don't want to get hit." He _has_ to see reason here.

But the cruel glint in his eyes tells me that he doesn't. "I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you," he says in a deceptively calm tone. "Go get your knife."

It's too much. I've watched him threaten to make us factionless, and force me to knock Will out, and hang Christina over the Chasm, and have Peter beat Tris to a bloody pulp. I'm done tolerating his savagery.

"No," I tell him firmly, meeting his glare with every bit of stubbornness I possess.

"Why not?" Eric asks tauntingly. "Are you afraid?"

I try mocking him back. "Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife? Yes, I am!" Anybody with a brain would be.

"Everyone stop!" Eric yells, and I know he's getting ready to do something like he did with Christina. "Clear out of the ring." His gaze returns to me. "All except you."

I watch helplessly as the others drop their knives and move to the edges of the room. When they're all out of the way, Eric turns to me again. "Stand in front of the target," he commands.

 _Shit._ The reality sinks in as I walk. _He's going to throw knives at me._ The prospect is utterly terrifying.

Vaguely, I'm aware of the others murmuring as they watch me march to my doom, and it makes me feel even worse to know that I'll have a full audience for my humiliation. I don't think I can do this.

It's difficult not to shake visibly as I stand in front of the target. I know I cover almost the whole thing – there's no way around that at my size. And that means that Eric is likely to strike me even if he's not trying to. I wouldn't put it past him to try.

With a final glare at me, he yells, "Hey, Four, give me a hand here, huh?" It takes my petrified brain a moment to realize that he's asking Four to throw the knives. That's probably marginally better than if Eric does it, but not much. Four's not exactly caring, either.

I watch uncertainly as our instructor moves away from the wall, scratching his eyebrow with a knife tip. He probably intends for the motion to seem casual, but it's not. Anyone who's ever lived in Candor could tell that he's almost as tense as I am. _He doesn't like this._

"You're going to stand there," Eric tells me viciously, "as he throws those knives until you learn not to flinch."

I swallow hard, staring at Four now as he assesses the situation. "Is this really necessary?" he finally asks, and a surge of hope goes through me. He's showing a backbone – challenging Eric to protect me.

The two glare at each other, clearly engaged in a power struggle, and I hold my breath as I wait for the outcome that could save my life – or take it. It seems to last for ages before Eric hisses, "I have the authority here, remember?" The words send another chill through me. "Here, and everywhere else."

A flush burns up Four's face, and he turns toward me, his eyes showing more anger than I usually see in him. It adds to my fear.

This is it…. I have to decide now if I'm going to take this chance or just give up and become factionless now. We all know that's where I'm heading anyway.

Abruptly, Tris' voice sounds through the room. " _Stop_ it!" she yells, and all eyes focus on her. I'm stunned by her bravery – she's standing up to Eric when no one else will. _And she's doing it for me._

"Any idiot can stand in front of a target," she states coldly. "It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of _cowardice_." It's the truth, and the Candor in me expects that to be enough. But of course it's not – not in Dauntless.

"Then it should be easy for you," Eric responds, pushing his hair back behind his ear, "if you're willing to take his place."

If there was any part of me that wasn't in full-fledged panic mode already, it certainly is now. I can't let Tris take on danger for my sake. I came here to be with her, after all, not to put her life at risk. But I'm too frozen with fear to say anything, and I can only watch as she steps forward, her head held high.

Eric seems thrilled with the challenge, his eyes turning to Four with a sadistic smile. Something flashes across Four's face in response – something so quick I almost miss it despite all my Candor instincts. And then I understand.

 _That's_ why Four watches Tris the way he does. Why he touches her sometimes, when he never seems to do that with anyone else. Why he glared at Uriah on the train last night, the same way I did. _He likes her._

It's not fair. I only chose this faction because Tris did. She was supposed to pick Abnegation, and I would have followed her there. We would both have been safe that way. Instead, we're dealing with the insanity that is Dauntless, and with the near certainty that we'll both be factionless soon. And on top of that, our _instructor_ has a thing for her.

I have no idea how to react, and I end up just staring as dumbly as everyone else as Tris makes her way toward me. "There goes your pretty face," Peter taunts her when she passes him. "Oh, wait. You don't have one." He's such a jerk, but I barely look at him, instead noticing the way Four stiffens a little at the comment. He hides it well – he's probably from Candor, too – but _he_ thinks she's pretty.

Tris, however, stays focused on me, and I realize that ultimately this moment isn't about anyone else. It's about her helping me – and me letting her do it. Part of me says I shouldn't, but she'll be so much safer up here than I am. She's half my size, which makes it easier for Four to miss her, and given what I now know about him, I'm sure he won't hurt her.

With that thought, I let my mind wander to exactly _why_ she's doing this. Is it a leftover Abnegation instinct, or does she like me the way I like her? Our eyes meet briefly, but I can't tell. She's always been hard for me to read. What _is_ clear, though, is that she wants to do this. So, finally, I exchange a nod with her, and I walk toward the others while she takes my place.

When I turn around again, I see her standing with her back to the board, her chin lifted bravely. I was right about our size difference – her head barely touches the center of the target, whereas I covered almost the whole thing.

"If you flinch," Four tells her firmly, "Al takes your place. Understand?" She nods, but it's clear from her expression that she doesn't know why he's saying it – that she's unaware he's trying to keep her safe because he cares about her. I'm glad she doesn't suspect his feelings; I don't need that competition.

Eric stands close behind Four, probably trying to be intimidating, but Four completely ignores him. Instead, he focuses on Tris as he throws the first knife. It's as fast as his earlier ones, seeming to hit the board the moment it leaves his hand, so I don't even have time to worry before I see it quivering in place six inches from Tris' cheek.

She closes her eyes in relief, showing the first sign of fear I've seen in her. It bothers me, and apparently it concerns Four, too. "You about done, Stiff?" he asks.

"No," she responds angrily. Good. _Hate him for throwing the knives._ It will bring her closer to me.

"Eyes open, then," he adds coldly, tapping a knife between his eyebrows. It's such a stupidly Dauntless thing to do.

The next blade lands in the part of Tris' hair, barely missing her. It makes my guts churn.

"Come on, Stiff," Four snarls. "Let someone else stand there and take it." The comment adds to my worry – he must not have meant to hit that close, and now he's concerned that he'll hurt her despite his best efforts.

It almost makes me want to take her place again, but before I can say anything, Tris does. "Shut _up_ , Four!" she snaps, and I know she wants to keep going. She's determined to protect me.

Eric is right behind Four now, and he mutters something that's too quiet for me to hear. Whatever it is, though, seems to bother Four. His expression changes fleetingly again before fixing into a hard stare, and then he throws the third knife.

It reaches Tris before I can decipher Four's expression, and I freeze as I see that it nicked her ear. It's a minor cut, but it makes me feel sick to see the blood starting to form at the point of injury. I shouldn't have let her take my place – she could have really gotten hurt.

"I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is," Eric calls across the room, "but I think that's enough for today." He marches over to Tris and places a proud hand on her shoulder. "I should keep my eye on you." His piercings pull back from his lips as he smiles, and another shudder of nausea goes through me. I'm not entirely sure why.

Eric leaves the room, and the others start to head out after him. I hesitate, not sure if I should stay and talk to Tris or not. But there's too much guilt knotting up my stomach, so I ultimately walk out. I don't return to the dorm, though, or hang around with Christina and Will. Instead, I head for the Chasm.

For a long time, I stare into the turbulent waters, feeling how they reflect my own emotions. I should never have chosen this faction. I expected to join Tris in Abnegation, and when she picked Dauntless instead, I followed her before I had time to really think about it. Now, I'm stuck in a place I don't belong, with a girl who may not even return my interest. I'm a fool.

As the feelings turn over and over in my stomach, the only comfort I can find is that at least we seem to be heading toward factionlessness together. As selfish as it makes me feel to admit it, I far prefer that to being there on my own.

 _ **A/N: Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this story. It's a one-shot, so I won't be adding any more chapters to it, but I still appreciate feedback. :-) Also, if you liked this, please check out my other stories (my T-rated ones are under this account, and I also have some M-rated ones under the "Windchimed M-Stories" account). Thanks!**_


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